


take me to your holy places

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Jewish Ray Palmer, M/M, Post-Canon, blasphemy i guess, scientists and warlocks CAN get along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: “That’s misspelled,” Ray says. “That’s... that has to be a backwards transliteration.” He looks physically pained by the text in front of him.“No one told me you were a linguist,” John says, hand curling over the corner of the book.*or, Ray gives John a hard time about his terrible Hebrew; they do some magic together regardless.





	take me to your holy places

**Author's Note:**

> wonderfully beta'd by thislovelymaelstrom on tumblr /themaelstromwrites on ao3!
> 
> ray literally says john is cool in legends s3 and i just want them to hang out and ray to comment on how bad john's hebrew is, that's all.
> 
> the title is from 'lovin' is bible' by the aces, which is very poppy and fun.
> 
> blasphemy, i suppose, but it is constantine, so..

“Hey, you know your Hebrew pronunciation is bad, right?” Ray says.

John glowers but looks up at Ray—lanky in his dad jeans and polo—who has apparently taken to spying on his spell casting. What’s an exorcist have to do to get a little privacy when making death wards?

“My Hebrew gets the job done,” John says. His spells work. Mostly. Even if his current pot of goop isn’t doing anything. 

Ray shrugs at him and John thinks maybe that’s the end of that, but of course not, because there’s no privacy on this bloody ship. Ray sits down next to him, peering into the pile of ingredients and then back at his spell book.

“That’s misspelled,” Ray says. “That’s... that has to be a backwards transliteration.” He looks physically pained by the text in front of him.

“No one told me you were a linguist,” John says, hand curling over the corner of the book. Languages aren’t simply academic; the background of them gives them power.

“If you count years of Hebrew school and editing the Haggadah each year, then sure.”

John squints at his spell book. It’s possible someone got that word wrong somewhere. Wasn’t him, though. “Who even learns Biblical Hebrew anymore?”

“Well, me, Gary, Martin—though he’s retired so you haven’t met him,” Ray says. “You know. Jewish people.”

There _should_ be vitriol behind that remark. John has gotten a lot of deserved anger at him over the years for his sometimes flippant and more than probably appropriative approach to religion. Anything that will stop a demon or monster or hell itself is fair game. 

John’s pretty sure God, or whatever passes for God, understands.

But there isn’t any annoyance. There’s just a touch of amusement on his face when John looks over at Ray.

“Do you want me to say the Hebrew part?” Ray asks, as eager as John’s seen him. Optimism and eagerness seem to be Ray’s primary traits; that’s something that John rarely encounters in his occult tinted day to day.

Spells with multiple people are tricky; it’s not something that he trusts to anyone. However, his Hebrew is maybe a little rusty. He’s been relying on the same battered spell book and fading Hebrew letters for years.

“Couldn’t hurt,” John says, though it absolutely could. Magic can always hurt—doesn’t have to even be evil magic to do so. He and everyone around him know that all too well.

John listens through the brachas and Elohims and the placeholders for the ineffable name. Maveth, mazzikim, words he knows are about death because of the way Ray shudders a little as he says them. 

And they taste like ash in his mouth when John hears them, the way that words of repose and annihilation always have. 

A sort of useless bit of synesthesia, that, for anyone who isn’t a dabbler of the dark arts.

Ray’s pronunciation is better, he concedes. John’s been slacking on the gutturals.

John continues where Ray leaves off, weaving in Arabic for the middle and English to end it. He squints over the book, then back to his pot where his disparate ingredients have actually combined to make slim stacks of protection papers. Ray isn’t smug, exactly, not the way John knows he himself would be, but he’s pleased.

“I thought you lot weren’t supposed to mess with the occult,” John says instead of ‘thank you.’ There’s definitely prohibitions against it in Jewish texts, although John hasn’t paid much attention to them. He’s only trying to save everyone’s skins when he pilfers.

Ray stiffens, sitting back from the spell book, like he’s just realized he did actual magic. “But it was for protection, right? Not invoking demons?”

John sighs. This attitude is why he doesn’t go around showing off his spells in the hallway. It’s a tricky thing, mentally, to accept magic and work with it. “For once, yes,” John says.

He grabs the sheaf of protection papers from his pot and sets them next to the spell book. “Don’t look like much, but they can be the difference between losing a finger to demon infection and losing your life.”

Ray’s glance shifts between the papers and the spell book before meeting John’s eyes. It’s a shame that everyone on this ship is so attractive. Hard enough to keep motivated as is, more difficult when there’s all sorts of people wandering around. Ray’s taller than him, always a plus, and wears his emotions so plainly it’s nerve wracking. 

“These are magic antibiotic bandages?” Ray asks.

That’s not… not _entirely_ wrong, actually. He’s fuzzy on the sciences but he knows enough to not dismiss that outright.

“I guess,” John allows, “although you don’t have to put them on the infected spot. Anywhere on the person will do.”

“Death by demonic septicemia,” Ray says, smiling at his own shoddy joke.

Hm. If they weren’t on the Waverider, he’d write Ray off as cheeky and positive and not worth the effort. Still, no one on this ship has gone unscathed, and he doesn’t know Ray’s past, but no one here smiles that much without something to hide.

John really does hate polo shirts, though. 

“Let me know if I can repay your time,” he says, infusing the words with as much suggestion as he thinks won’t get him punched. John’s pretty certain that Ray isn’t the punching type unless there are literal demons involved, so it’s a bit heavy-handed.

Ray scratches the back of his head, but doesn’t say ‘no thank you,’ or ‘we’re even,’ and that’s promising.

John can work with open-ended.

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing came about because I cringe whenever I hear constantine's Hebrew in 1x4. it could be the demon but the Hebrew also doesn't sound that great, tbh. 
> 
> some brief hebrew vocab, for anyone who wants explanation  
> bracha means blessing. Elohim is a God name, the ineffable name is the Tetragrammaton which is not pronounceable so i'm specifically referring to hearing Adonai or HaShem as a replacement for that. maveth means death. mazzikim are harmful spirits or demons, depending.
> 
> anywayyyy there's at least 2 more chapters for this because the scene i really wanted to write apparently required all this backstory first. 
> 
> also constantine stealing stuff from all over with no real recognition, while very in character, also annoys me, so i wanted to present him as not actually always the expert.
> 
> hmu here or on tumblr at the same username!


End file.
